Meet Me Under The Ombu Tree Page 22

  had been a big mistake?

  ‘Who cares what they say? I never have. Who’d tell them anyway?’ she said brightly. Suddenly the impossible seemed quite possible. He had said they shouldn’t, not that he didn’t want to. She put her arm around him and rested her head on his shoulder. ‘Santi, I have loved you for so long.’ She sighed happily. Those words, so often said silently in her head, were now uttered from the depth of her soul. He pulled his head out of his hands and put both arms around her, nestling his face in her hair. They sat a while, pressed tightly together, listening to the other’s breathing, wondering where to go from there.

  ‘I’ve tried to convince myself that I don’t care for you,’ he said at last, feeling lighter with the unburdening of his conscience.

  ‘But you do care,’ she said joyfully.

  ‘Unfortunately I do, Chofi,’ he said, playing with her plait. ‘I thought of you so much while I was away.’

  ‘Did you?’ she whispered, dizzy with pleasure.

  ‘Yes. I didn’t think I’d miss you at all, but I surprised myself. I cared about you even then but I didn’t understand my feelings until now.’

  ‘When did you realize you loved me?’ she asked shyly.

  ‘It wasn’t until I kissed you. I didn’t understand why I minded so much about you dating Roberto Lobito. I guess I just didn’t want to think about it too hard. I was afraid of the answer.’

  ‘I was surprised when you kissed me.’ She laughed.

  ‘No one was more surprised than me, I can assure you.’

  ‘Were you ashamed?’

  ‘Very.’

  ‘If you kissed me again, would you feel ashamed?’ she asked and grinned at him, daring him to try it and see.

  ‘I don’t know, Chofi. It’s ... well, complicated.’

  ‘I hate it when things run smoothly.’

  ‘I know you do. But I don't think you understand what a kiss between us might mean.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘You’re my uncle’s daughter,' he lamented.

  ‘So what?’ she said light-heartedly. ‘Who cares? What matters is we like each other, we make each other happy and we are learning how to live in the present. What could be a better test?’

  ‘You’re right, Chofi,’ he conceded and she noticed that he had suddenly turned serious again. She withdrew from his embrace and looked at him, searching his face for his expression. He raised his rough hand and ran it slowly down her cheek, tracing her tremulous lips with his thumb. For a long moment he searched deeply into her brown eyes as if attempting to fight his impulses one final time. Then he surrendered to a desire far greater than his reasoning and, with uncharacteristic force, he pulled her to him and placed his soft, wet mouth onto hers. She caught her breath as if she had suddenly been ducked underwater. She had imagined this scene so many times and yet she hadn’t anticipated the light sensation that turned her stomach to foam and the tingling feeling in her limbs. This certainly wasn’t the kiss of Roberto Lobito, whose efforts now seemed very contrived in comparison with Santi’s. Fighting for air, she pulled away, suddenly confused by the fevered rush of her emotions. Then she recognized the longing in his eyes and in the pounding of her heart and she gave him her lips once more. In that moment she knew what Santi’s story had been all about, and she was aware that she was truly existing in the moment, savouring every new sensation. With a tenderness that caused her belly to flutter, he kissed her temples, her eyes and her forehead, holding her small face in his hands, caressing her skin with loving fingers. She felt consumed by him, enfolded in his arms, lost in the intoxicating scent of his skin. Neither of them noticed the inauspicious clouds gathering darkly above them. Utterly absorbed in each other, they failed to feel the first drops of rain that soon turned into a heavy deluge, pounding onto their bodies as they crouched against the trunk of the tree for shelter.

  Chapter 17

  The next few days passed in a blissful haze of illicit, stolen moments. Life on the farm went on as usual but for Santi and Sofia every minute was sacred. Every moment alone was dedicated to hurried kisses, behind closed doors, trees or bushes, in the pool when they were sure they wouldn’t be discovered. To them Santa Catalina had never before vibrated with such intense beauty and radiance.

  The pair would disappear up the dusty tracks on horseback to lie under the shade of the ombu and celebrate the dawn of their love with tender kisses and gentle caresses. There Santi would pull out his penknife and they would entertain themselves for hours carving their names and secret coded messages in the soft, green branches. Climbing as high as they dared into the enchanted kingdom of the most ancient tree in Argentina they would watch the kaleidoscope of ponies snorting and grazing peacefully in the arid fields below. Able to see for miles they could detect the comings and goings of the gauchos on horseback wandering lazily up the tracks in the distance, clad in their traditional bombachas, leather boots and silver coined belts. In the evening, which was their favourite time, they would sit on the fragrant grass gazing out onto the vast horizon and wallow self-indulgently in the melancholy of the sunset.

  Everything filled Sofia with joy. Even the smallest, most insignificant task, like scattering Soledad’s breadcrumbs on the grass for the birds, gave her pleasure and she glowed because Santi loved her. She felt her heart would explode with the intoxicating, overwhelming love she felt for him. She worried that people would notice because she no longer walked but skipped, she no longer talked but sang, she no longer ran but danced. Her whole body vibrated with love. She understood why people would do anything for it; even kill for it.

  Above all, Sofia’s relationship with her mother improved. She became a new person, helpful, attentive and unselfish.

  ‘If I didn’t know any better, I would say that Sofia is in love,’ her mother said one morning at breakfast after Sofia had been unusually agreeable about giving Panchito some extra English lessons.

  ‘She is in love, Mama,’ replied Agustin nonchalantly, stirring his coffee.

  ‘She is?’ Anna cried happily. ‘But who on earth with?’

  ‘With herself,’ interjected Rafael quickly.

  ‘Don’t be unkind, Rafael. She’s being very agreeable at the moment. Don’t

  spoil it by antagonizing her.’

  What interested her far more than Sofia was the beautiful Jasmina, Rafael’s girlfriend, whose father, the celebrated Ignacio Pena, was the most successful lawyer in Buenos Aires. Coming from such an illustrious family, she would make a good wife for Rafael, an addition to the family of whom Anna could be proud. In fact, she had known the girl’s mother for a short time; Señora Pena was a devout Catholic and they met occasionally at Mass when they spent weekends in the city. Anna had made a mental note to attend Mass more often. Befriending Señora Pena would most certainly render her influential in her son’s future.

  ‘For God’s sake, Agustin! What do you think you were doing, telling Mama that Sofia’s in love? Have you no sense at all?’ Rafael said gruffly when their mother had left the breakfast table.

  ‘Lighten up, Rafa. I was just telling her the truth,’ he protested.

  ‘Sometimes it’s better to lie.’

  ‘Come on, it’s only a crush.’

  ‘You know what Mama’s like. You remember her reaction to Joaco Santa Cruz marrying his first cousin?’

  ‘Sofia is hardly going to marry Santi. Poor girl. He’s just humouring her like one would humour a puppy.’

  ‘Whatever. But think next time before you go opening your big mouth.’

  The love affair between Santi and Sofia went undetected by the majority of those on the farm. Anyone who suspected anything, like Rafael and Agustin, put it down to an adolescent crush and thought it quite charming. There was nothing unusual about the amount of time the two spent together. They did nothing out of the ordinary. Yet between them there passed looks and gestures that had a secret significance only to them. They dwelt in a dreamy world that ran parallel to everyone else’s but d
iffered in vibration. They felt they were living on an idyllic plane where nothing could touch them, least of all damage their love. They were dwelling in the precious present and nothing else mattered.

  The polo matches continued and yet Sofia didn’t care so much if she played or not. Her mornings with Jose dwindled and she spent more time with Soledad in the kitchen baking cakes which she would then proudly take over to Chiquita’s house for tea. She ceased to fight with her mother but asked her

  advice about makeup and clothes. This filled Anna with happiness and she rejoiced in the certainty that her daughter must at last be growing up. There were no more skinny dips, or shameless displays of capriciousness, and even Paco, who never seemed to notice them anyway, admitted that his daughter was changing for the better.

  ‘Sofia!’ shouted Anna from her bedroom. It was raining outside, heavy, constant and unrelenting. She closed the windows with a grimace and sighed irritably as she noticed a large puddle of water on the carpet. ‘Soledad!’ she cried. Sofia and Soledad both entered her bedroom at the same time.

  ‘Soledad, please clean up this dreadful puddle. You must close all the windows of the house when it rains like this. Goodness, you’d think the world was about to end, looking out there,’ she complained. Soledad wandered off slowly in the direction of the kitchen to fetch a bucket and sponge. Sofia flopped onto her mother's bed with a pot of pink nail varnish.

  ‘Do you like this colour?’ she asked in English. Her mother sat on the bed and took a good look at it.

  ‘My mother hated me wearing nail varnish. She thought it looked cheap,’ she recalled and smiled wistfully as she remembered her.

  ‘Well it is, that’s why it’s sexy,’ laughed Sofia, opening the bottle and applying it.

  ‘Good God, girl, it’ll look a mess if you put it on in a rush. Here, give it to me. There, nothing like someone else’s steady hand.’ Sofia watched as her mother held her hand in hers and carefully painted on the varnish. She couldn’t remember the last time her mother had given her so much attention. ‘I’ve got a favour to ask you, Sofia,’ she said.

  ‘What is it?’ Sofia asked reluctantly, hoping it didn’t involve drawing her away from Santi.

  ‘Well, Antonio is arriving in town from Buenos Aires on the four o’clock bus.

  I wonder if you could ask Santi to be a dear and go and pick him up in the truck. I know it’s a bore, but Rafa and Agustin can’t go.’

  ‘Oh, that’s fine. He won’t mind. We can go together. Anyway, what’s Antonio been doing in Buenos Aires?’ Sofia asked casually, trying to hide her excitement. They could spend all afternoon together by the lake, just the two of them. She hoped Maria wouldn’t want to come.

  ‘Poor old thing, he had to go into the hospital. It’s his hip again.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ she responded absentmindedly. She was already by the lake with Santi.

  Thank you, Sofia, it’s very sweet of you. I just can’t bear to go in this rain.’

  ‘I love the rain!’ she laughed.

  ‘That’s because you didn’t grow up with it like I did.’

  ‘Do you miss Ireland?’

  ‘No. I was thrilled to leave and now - well, I’ve lived here for so long, I wouldn’t belong if I went home. It would be like a foreign country to me.’

  ‘I’d miss Argentina,’ said Sofia, holding up one hand and admiring her nails.

  ‘Of course you would. Santa Catalina is a very special place and you belong here. It’s your home,’ replied her mother, surprising herself. She had always resented her daughter for fitting in when she had found it so hard to feel accepted in her adopted country. She looked across at Sofia’s radiant face and felt a new emotion. Pride.

  ‘I know. I love it. I wish I didn’t have to go back to Buenos Aires,’ she sighed.

  ‘We all do things we don’t want to do. But more often than not they’re for the best. You learn that as you get older.’ Anna smiled softly and screwed the lid back on the little flask of varnish. ‘There. You now look like a prize tart,’ she

  joked.

  Thanks, Mama!’ exclaimed Sofia in delight.

  ‘Don’t smudge them now.’

  ‘Must go and tell Santi about his errand,’ Sofia announced, jumping off the bed and disappearing down the corridor, passing Soledad, puffing from having climbed the stairs, weighed down with buckets and brushes on her way to tackle the puddle.

  Santi was delighted at the chance to spend the afternoon with Sofia. Rather meanly, they decided not to tell Maria, who was playing with Panchito in the sitting room with her mother and her mother’s friend Lia. Dashing through the rain, they arrived at the truck breathless with excitement and wet to the skin. They left the farm at half past two in order to give themselves some time together before Antonio’s large frame would climb in between them at four. Side by side they rattled up the driveway, splattering mud up the side of the vehicle as they left the ranch. Santi turned on the radio and they both hummed along to John Denver. Sofia placed her hand on his damp knee as he drove. Neither needed to talk, they enjoyed each other’s company in silence.

  The pueblo was deserted. A rusty car lurched its way around the square in

  front of them at an infuriatingly slow pace. The few shops like the hardware store and the food store were closed for the afternoon siesta. An old man sat on the bench in the middle of the plaza under a battered brown hat as if he hadn’t noticed it was raining. Even the dogs had scurried off for shelter. As they passed the church of Nuestra Senora de la Asuncion, they looked for the usual gaggle of gossiping old ladies dressed in black, ‘crows’ as Grandpa O’ Dwyer had always called them, but even they had retreated in out of the deluge.

  They drove slowly through the village. The road around the square had been covered in tarmac a few years before, but all the other routes were still dirt tracks. Once past the square it wasn’t long before they were on the open road that ran alongside the lake. Finding a secluded spot under some trees, Santi pulled up.

  ‘Let’s go and walk in the rain,’ suggested Sofia, climbing down. They held hands and laughed as they ran from the shelter of one tree out into the rain, then dived for cover under another tree when they couldn't take the downpour a moment longer. Checking that they were quite alone, for it was not easy to pass unnoticed in a village of that size, especially for a Solanas whose family were very well-known by most of the inhabitants, Santi pushed Sofia up against a tree and kissed her neck. He then pulled back and looked down at her. Her hair was soaking. He wiped it off her face, revealing her glowing pink cheeks and hearty smile. She had a big, generous mouth. He loved her mouth, the way it could go from sulky to smirky in a moment. It was always inviting even when it was quivering with rage. The rain dripped through the leaves in large, heavy drops but the air was thick and humid so they welcomed them. He placed his hands around her waist and pulled her against him. She could feel his excitement through his jeans.

  ‘I want to make love to you, Chofi,’ he said, looking steadily into her eyes.

  ‘We can’t.’ She laughed throatily. ‘Not here. Not now.’ She laughed to hide the fear that made her lips tremble and turn pale. She had wanted Santi to make love to her from the moment she had realized that she loved him, two years before. But now it was really going to happen she felt afraid.

  ‘No, not here. I know a place,’ he said, taking her hand and pressing his wet lips into her palm without releasing her anxious eyes from where he held them securely with his. ‘I’ll be gentle, Chofi. I love you,’ he said and smiled kindly down at her.

  ‘Okay,’ she whispered, lowering her eyes, nervous of what was to come.

  Santi led her by the hand to the musty shelter of an old boathouse that stood low and squat by the edge of the lagoon, among the long grasses and rushes where herons and spoonbills made their nests. Once inside out of the rain they lay laughing at their boldness on top of a pile of empty sacks made out of rotting hessian. The light entered through cracks and ragged holes in the
wood, casting shimmering shafts onto a dusty boat that lay neglected on its side, like a beached whale dragged up out of the water. They listened to the rat-a-tat tapping of the rain on the tin roof and breathed in the stuffy air that smelt of oil and sweet, decaying grass. Sofia snuggled up to Santi, not because she was cold, but because she was shivering with nervousness.

  ‘I’m going to make love to you very, very slowly, Chofi,’ said Santi, kissing her temple and tasting the salt.

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she ventured softly. Santi was moved by her fear. Here was the girl he loved more than anyone else, stripped of her petulance and her arrogance. Stripped to her sweet core. The Sofia no one else knew but him.

  ‘You don’t need to know what to do, my love. I will love you, that’s all,’ he replied in a deep, reassuring voice and smiled at her fondly. To reduce her fear he balanced himself on one elbow and ran the other hand down her face, tracing her tremulous lips with the tip of his finger. She smiled nervously, embarrassed by the silent intimacy of his actions and the strength of his eyes that bore through hers into her soul. She didn’t speak. She didn’t know what to say. She bowed to silence in awe of the magnitude of the moment.

  Then he lowered his lips and kissed her with tenderness on her eyes, her nose, her temples and finally her mouth. He ran his wet tongue over the inside of her lips and explored her teeth and gums until his mouth was pressed heavily onto hers, consuming her entirely. She inhaled unsteadily as his hand ran under her wet T-shirt and felt the gentle shudder of her belly and the soft rise of her breasts. He pulled the shirt over her head and saw her naked torso, pale and shivering in the misty light that entered between the rotting beams. He kissed her neck and her shoulders while his fingers ran over the downy little hairs on the surface of her belly, over the stiff strain of her nipples, round to the small of her back that lifted off the ground in response to his touch. He teased her breast with his tongue until the pleasure turned to pain that somehow ached in another place far from where his mouth was, between her legs. Yet, she didn’t want him to stop, it was a pain that was at once excruciatingly