Meet Me Under The Ombu Tree

by Santa Montefiore

  ‘Mama, you don’t have to say all this,’ interrupted Sofia, embarrassed that her mother was baring her soul. ‘This isn’t Confession.’

  ‘No, I want to. You see, you and I just don’t understand each other. But that’s no reason not to be friends. Let’s sit down, shall we?’ she suggested.

  Sofia sat down on the dry grass opposite her mother and thought how appropriate it was that Grandpa O’Dwyer was present for this conversation.

  ‘When I married yer father, I thought it would be easy starting a new life in a beautiful country with the man I loved. But I was wrong. Things are never that simple and I suppose I was my own worst enemy. I can see that now. I guess as one gets older one does acquire a little wisdom; the wisdom of hindsight. That’s something my father did teach me. He was right about a lot of things, but I didn’t really pay him enough attention. I wish I had.'

  Anna paused for a moment and shook her head. She had made the decision that she was going to make it up with her daughter, she couldn’t allow herself to falter now. She breathed deeply and swept the hair that had fallen into her eyes behind her ear.

  ‘Oh Sofia, I can’t expect you to understand. One doesn’t even understand one’s own feelings, or where they come from, let alone trying to understand someone else’s. But I just didn’t fit in here. I never have. I tried to, but I just wasn’t cut out for this life of horses and Latin temperaments. I found the society here very unforgiving, and as much as I tried to belong, I just never found I could. I didn’t want to admit to myself that I missed those green hills of Glengariff, the moody face of my Aunt Dorothy and my sweet, sweet mother whom I just, well, abandoned.’

  Anna’s voice faltered, but she pushed on. Her eyes were locked somewhere in the middle distance and Sofia felt this soliloquy was as much for herself as it was for her daughter.

  ‘I hope Mam forgives me in heaven,’ she added in a low voice, looking up at the sky.

  Sofia sat with her eyes wide, afraid that if she closed them, the moment would be lost. She had never heard her mother talk like this before. If she had been this open when Sofia was growing up, perhaps they could have been real friends. Then Anna surprised even herself.

  ‘I was envious of you, Sofia,’ she conceded. That was as honest as a person could be, and Sofia felt a tightening in her throat.

  ‘Envious?’ she croaked.

  ‘Because you made it all look so easy. I wanted to clip your wings and prevent you from flying because I couldn’t fly,’ she said hoarsely.

  ‘But Mama, I wanted you to notice me, so I behaved badly. You only ever saw my brothers,’ Sofia said, but her voice sounded more like a cry.

  ‘I know. I couldn’t bond with you. I tried.’

  ‘I so wanted you to be my friend. I used to watch Maria with Chiquita and long for us to be like that. But we never got close. When I went to live in London I wanted to hurt you. Both of you. I knew if I didn’t come home you’d both be sad. I wanted you to miss me. I wanted you to realize how much you loved me.’ Sofia’s voice cracked on the word ‘love’. She couldn’t continue.

  ‘Sofia - come here. Let me tell you how much I love you. How much I regret

  the past and how aware I am that this might be the last time I can make it up to you.’

  Sofia shuffled around to where her mother was sitting, and placing herself next to her she allowed Anna to put her arm around her and press her face against hers. Sofia felt her mother’s tears on her cheek.

  ‘I do love you, Sofia. You are my daughter.’ She laughed sadly. ‘How couldn’t I love you?’

  ‘I love you too, Mama,’ she sniffed.

  ‘You know the greatest of all Christian teachings is that of forgiveness. So you and I must learn to forgive.’

  ‘I’ll try,’ replied Sofia. ‘And you must try to forgive Papa too,’ she ventured.

  ‘Paco?’

  ‘Papa,’ she repeated.

  Anna pulled her daughter closer and sighed. ‘Yer right, Sofia. I’ll try to forgive him too.’

  Later that day, Sofia went for a ride with Santi and Fernando. She reflected on what her mother had said. Looking around at Santa Catalina she felt she could begin to understand Anna’s feelings of isolation, because Sofia was slowly realizing that she didn’t belong there either. How ironic it was that her mother’s envy of Sofia’s place at Santa Catalina had been the reason for their acrimony; now Sofia’s own sense of isolation was the very cause of their understanding.

  Sofia had to look on passively as Santi ordered Javier around. To him Javier was like Pablo, a servant, nothing more. He was kind but firm, as was the rest of her family. Fernando was a little gruffer, like his father, Miguel; it was their way. How could they have known that Javier was their flesh, their blood? She smiled at him as he saddled up her pony and brought it around for her to mount, and he smiled back. But his smile betrayed no more affection than he felt for anyone else in her family - less probably as he barely knew her. He didn’t see his colouring reflected in her own, his grin and gait mirrored in Santi; there was no subconscious bond that pulled the three of them together. She had dreamed that nature would enable him to see from whence he came, but that dream was nothing more than romantic wish-fulfilment. He had grown to look more like Soledad and Antonio. She wondered how different he might have looked had he grown up with her and Santi. She would never know.

  ‘What did you do today?’ asked Maria later that evening when she and Sofia found themselves alone on the terrace after dinner. She looked better and had been able to eat with them at the table under the stars. The humidity was oppressive. They all felt the storm edging its way in over the horizon.

  ‘I visited Grandpa’s grave,’ Sofia replied. Maria smiled at her through the darkness. Sofia suddenly wished she hadn’t reminded her cousin of death. ‘How do you feel?’ she added, changing the subject.

  ‘Better, actually. For the first time I don’t feel ill. I feel well again. Perhaps your candles worked,’ she said, referring to their visit to the church the day before.

  ‘That would be nice. We prayed very hard,’ Sofia replied hopefully. They sat in silence for a while. She was very aware that the others were leaving them alone to chat. She was grateful for this private moment with her friend.

  ‘Sofia, what are you going to do?’ Maria asked carefully.

  ‘What do you mean?’ she said, playing the innocent. But Maria could see through her in the same way that Santi could.

  ‘You know what I mean. You’ll have to go home in the end.’

  Sofia swallowed hard. ‘I know. But I can’t think about it now.’

  ‘You’ll have to. You have a husband and two daughters. Don’t you love them?’

  ‘I do love them. I love them very much. They’re just so far away.’

  ‘Santi also has children and a wife whom he loves very much.’

  ‘Not in the same way that he loves me,’ she insisted in defence.

  ‘But he can’t have you. Don’t you see? It’s impossible.’

  Sofia knew she was right but she didn’t want to face the truth. Everything was so perfect. They were so happy together; she just couldn’t imagine it coming to an end.

  Maria took her hand in hers and held it tightly. ‘Sofia,’ she continued, ‘it’s all very well at the moment. You’re both living in a dream. But what are you going to do once I’m gone? Santi will have to return to Buenos Aires, he has a business to run. Things will go back to normal and where does that leave you? What do you want - to run away together? To leave your families behind?’

  ‘No! Yes! I don’t know,’ she replied in confusion.

  ‘Sofia, I agree you’re right together but it’s too late now. I love my brother so much; I would give anything for you both to be happy. But you can’t destroy the lives of those around you. You’d never be able to look yourself in the

  mirror again. You couldn’t respect a person who was capable of leaving his children like that. Can you really build your happiness on other peopl
e’s unhappiness?’

  ‘I love him, Maria. I don’t care about anything else. I wake up with him on my mind and fall asleep dreaming about him. I breathe him. I have to be with him. I just wouldn’t want to live without him. I suffered so much when I left him all those years ago, I can’t go through it again!’

  ‘Do what you will,’ conceded Maria kindly. ‘Just think about what I’ve said.’ Sofia embraced her friend, so fragile and yet so brave. She felt a great surge of love for her. When she departed the first drops of rain were falling from the sky.

  Chapter 49

  Wednesday, 12 November 1997

  The thunder roared like an angry lion pacing the heavens. Sofia wanted to run over to Santi’s house and curl up in his arms. The deluge fell in thick splashes against her window, rattling rabidly against the glass. She stood in the darkness looking out. It was very hot still. Every now and then a flash of lightning would illuminate her room with a shuddering silver blaze. She didn’t feel afraid, she just felt sad.

  Maria’s words swam about in her mind and she could not free herself from them. Was it really impossible for her and Santi to be together? She had tried to get to sleep but the thunder mirrored the disquiet in her head and she tossed in anguish. Finally, she crept out into the rain and let the heavy drops fall upon her. She didn’t mind getting wet; in fact she was grateful for it as the night was humid and sticky. She enjoyed the peace of the darkness, it had always had a strange allure for her. She lost herself in it. Pacing about the courtyard, she indulged in the sweet melancholy of her desolation. She loved Santi, but could she love him enough to let him go?

  She looked at her watch under the light that swung in the wind above the door. It was three in the morning. She felt a shiver momentarily debilitate her body in spite of the heat. Suddenly she was gripped with panic. She sensed a terrible dread right in the core of her being. Something was wrong, she just knew it.

  She found herself running through the rain and the wind to Chiquita’s house. She didn’t know what she was going to do once she got there. She just ran. The water poured down her face and soaked her nightdress to such an extent it clung to her body like weeds. Each time the thunder cracked she ran faster, leaping over the grass when the lightning struck. Once she reached the house she pounded on the door. When Miguel’s face appeared, crumpled and anxious, she fell into his arms.

  ‘Something’s wrong!’ she cried breathlessly. He looked at her in confusion but before he could say anything she pushed past him. Santi appeared from somewhere and suddenly the whole house was awake. When she entered Maria’s room her fears were confirmed. Maria was dead.

  Sofia was inconsolable. Miguel and Chiquita held each other as if their own

  lives depended on it. Panchito and Fernando sat slumped in chairs, weeping. Santi knelt on the floor by Maria’s bed and stroked her hand, his face grey with resignation. Eduardo, who had been with her throughout, gazed out of the window as if in a trance. Sofia just stood there as her dreams disintegrated about her.

  She took one last look at her friend. Maria was even more beautiful in death than she had been in life. Her skin was like porcelain and her expression was one of peace. Her decrepit body lay still and heavy and Sofia was very aware that it was nothing more than a shell, an empty house where she had resided, but now she was free of it. She was happy for her that she was finally released from the pain. She knew she was in another dimension where misery and illness could not reach her, but what of the rest of them?

  Miguel kissed his daughter’s forehead and then with Chiquita, Fernando and Panchito, they left Eduardo alone with his wife. Santi walked up to Sofia, his face grey with despair. He pulled her into his arms and led her out into the corridor where they both abandoned themselves to grief. After a long while of weeping in silence he held her face in his hands and wiped away the tears with his thumbs. His eyes welled with tenderness.

  ‘Where do we go from here?’ she whispered, when she had controlled herself enough to speak.

  He shook his head and sighed heavily. ‘I don’t know, Chofi. I just don’t know.’

  But she knew. Maria had been right.

  After that, events passed in a blur. The funeral was a small, dignified affair during which Santi and Sofia barely exchanged glances. Claudia and the children had returned with Eduardo and Maria’s children. There was no laughter. The rain had cleared but the sunshine failed to bring about gladness in anyone’s heart.

  Sofia sat with her parents on the uncomfortable seats of the church and Padre Juan gave a fluent address that moved them all to tears. More tears. She noticed her parents held hands and once or twice they exchanged tender looks. Their compassion moved Sofia who hoped that with the loss of Maria they might have found each other again. The heaviness weighed down upon them all as they bade farewell to a young woman who had had so much to live for. Sofia could barely look at Maria’s family without feeling an indescribable

  sadness. Her children hadn’t even said goodbye.

  Maria was buried in the small tomb that belonged to the family, alongside her grandparents and other relatives who had gone before her. Sofia laid some flowers and said a small prayer for her. Once she would have looked upon this tomb as her own final resting place, but now she realized that she would be buried far away from here and there would be different faces at her funeral.

  Claudia blinked at Sofia through her tears and she knew what she was thinking. It had all come to an end. There was no reason now for her to stay.

  She embraced Chiquita and thanked her for sending her the letter. Tm glad you found me. I’m glad I came,’ she said truthfully.

  ‘I’m happy you came too, Sofia,’ she replied. ‘But I didn’t send you any letter.’

  If Chiquita hadn't sent her the letter, who had?

  As they made their way back to the cars, a taxi drew up and out stepped a man Sofia recognized. It was her brother - Agustin. He strode straight up to Chiquita and Miguel, embraced them both and said how sorry he was that Maria had been taken from them. ‘But I have come back,’ he told Paco and Anna brightly. ‘I have left Marianne and the children. I’ve come home.’

  When he saw Sofia he greeted her with the politeness of a stranger. It was then that Sofia realized just how much those long years away had taken from her. They had changed her. She just didn’t belong there any more.

  Once back at Santa Catalina she called David.

  ‘David, she’s gone,’ she said sadly.

  ‘Darling, I’m so sorry,’ his voice was full of sympathy.

  ‘There’s nothing here for me any more. I’m coming home.’

  ‘Let me know when your flight gets in, I’ll bring the girls,’ he said gently.

  ‘Oh yes, please bring the girls.’ Suddenly she felt a tremendous wave of homesickness.

  Sofia packed her bags and prepared herself for the long journey home. Santa Catalina seemed suddenly remote and aloof as if she wished to lessen Sofia’s pain in leaving her. At five when the shadows began to edge their way into a cooler, more refreshing evening, her car drew up under the eucalyptus trees. She stood in their shade and bade farewell to her father.

  ‘This is all very sudden. When will we see you again?’ he asked gruffly in an attempt to mask his misery, but she could tell from his expression that he couldn’t bear to see her go.

  ‘I don’t know, Papa. You have to understand that this is no longer my home,’ she replied, fighting her emotions. ‘I have a husband and two girls who are waiting for me in England.’

  ‘But you haven’t even said goodbye to anyone.’

  ‘I haven’t the strength. It is better that I go quietly - I don’t think I’ve ever done anything quietly before!’ she quipped in rather poor taste.

  ‘You belong here, Sofia,’ he said.

  ‘I did once. And a part of me will always be here,’ she replied and she noticed his eyes turn to the polo fields in the distance.

  ‘Yes, it will.’ He nodded and sighed deeply.

&
nbsp; ‘Thank you, Papa,’ she said and touched his hand. He turned to face her, unsure whether he understood what she was trying to say. ‘You gave my child a home,’ she added. ‘Ironic, isn’t it? He belongs in the home I lost.’ Paco’s eyes glistened as he searched for something to say. ‘I know you did the right thing,’ she told him hastily. ‘I only wish I had come back with him. Then I would never have felt estranged from the people I love.’

  Hearing those words, Paco pulled his daughter into his arms where he held her so forcefully she knew he was hiding tears that he did not wish her to see.

  At that moment Anna appeared in the doorway like a spectre. The past twenty-four hours showed in the dark circles under her eyes. She looked tired and defeated.

  ‘Mama!’ exclaimed Sofia in surprise, reluctantly withdrawing from her father’s embrace and wiping her cheeks with a trembling hand.

  ‘I wish you would stay,’ Anna said quietly, approaching her with a soft expression on her face. She walked out of the shadow into the sun and extended her hands to her. Sofia took them in hers. ‘Maria is with God now,’ she said.

  ‘I know. She’s with Grandpa,’ Sofia said quietly.

  ‘Will you call us?’ asked Anna, and Sofia noticed her ice-blue eyes were melting.

  ‘Yes. I would like you to know my children some day.’

  ‘I would like that,’ her mother replied. ‘Your room will always be here for you, but I think it is time to clear it out, don’t you?’

  Sofia nodded, smiling back her emotion. In her mother’s eyes she could see remorse, as if she were crying out from inside the shell of her body but unable to physically express her feelings. Sofia could sense her fighting with herself. Instinctively she made the first move for her. Placing her arms around her she pulled her thin frame towards her. Anna didn’t resist. When she held her mother, Sofia felt a warmth radiate from her that she hadn’t felt for many years. She remembered those few moments as a young child when her mother had drawn her into her arms and cherished her. She smelt the same and her scent unlocked the final door to Sofia’s memories. She sensed the heaviness that comes from holding onto resentment for so long lighten its burden and release her. Perhaps, as Anna had suggested, they would both learn to forgive.