Meet Me Under The Ombu Tree (70 page)

Fernando’s arrival was a momentous occasion for his family. Reminiscent of Santi’s return after his trip abroad well over twenty years before, they all gathered on the terrace of their home squinting into the sunshine for the first sighting of Fernando’s car. Except his arrival was awaited with sadness for he was returning to say goodbye to his sister.

‘He’s much changed, Sofia,’ said Chiquita sadly. ‘I don’t think you’ll recognize him.’

Sofia smiled at her aunt sympathetically. ‘Do you think he’s come back to stay?’ she asked, making conversation. She didn’t really care whether he came back or not. She glanced over at Santi who was talking to his father and Eduardo. Fernando’s arrival was shaded with apprehension. Miguel had worried that he wouldn’t return in time. Maria was fading fast. No one could remain still. They either shuffled their feet or paced the grass. Even the dogs lay panting in the shade with their tails heavy and unmoving.

When Fernando’s car turned the corner and drove slowly up the drive with

the dignity and sobriety of a hearse, the small gathering breathed with relief rather than joy. Fernando looked out of the window and felt his heart inflate with affection and sweet melancholia. This was where he had grown up. This is what he had sacrificed for so many years and it hadn’t changed at all.

He stepped out of the car and into the frail arms of his mother. He embraced his father, Panchito, his aunts and uncles who all commented on his long hair and black beard. He was barely recognizable. When he saw Sofia he gasped with astonishment.

‘I never thought I'd see you again,’ he said, looking down at the woman who reminded him of a cousin he had once loathed. But they were both different people now, as if their childhood had been an extended play which had long since closed down, their roles discarded along with the script.

‘It’s good to see you, Fercho. I’m glad you’ve come home,’ she replied, for want of anything better to say. She felt awkward. Fernando was like a stranger to her.

When he saw Santi he did something that surprised them both. He wept. In Santi he saw the friend who had set out that cold winter’s night to punish Facundo Hernandez. Yet he cried not because Facundo had saved his life, nor because they had both saved Maria’s, but because he looked into the honest green eyes of his brother and saw only the wasted years caused by jealousy, resentment and fear. He wept because he had come home and because he was home to stay. He looked behind him and the shadow was no longer there.

Chiquita led Fernando inside to see Maria. Santi caught Sofia’s eye and they both knew that this was not a moment for them; Fernando needed time alone with his sister.

‘Let’s go into town,’ he said solemnly. ‘No one will notice where we are now Fercho’s home.’

‘He’s so different. He’s like another person - someone I never knew,’ she said wistfully, following him through the trees.

‘I know. He’s different for us, too.’

‘I should feel something for him, but I don’t,’ she said, reflecting on the fickleness of time that allows you to connect with some people after long years of separation and not with others.

‘He’s been through a lot, Chofi. He’s not the same as he was. You’ll have to get to know him all over again. So will I.’

When Fernando saw his sister he was humbled by her brave smile and sparkling eyes but devastated by the destruction the disease had caused. Her face was gaunt, the cheekbones sticking out, reminiscent of those harrowing photographs from the German prison camps of World War Two, and she had lost her hair which emphasized the shape of her skull that was only too apparent beneath the thin layer of skin that clung to it. But her spirit was so big it dwarfed her appearance and seemed to illuminate the room. She extended her bony hand and welcomed him home and he fell to his knees and kissed it, in awe of her courage and only too aware of the lack of his own.

‘Look at you!’ she laughed, her eyes smiling at him with tenderness. ‘What have you done to yourself, Fercho?’ Fernando was unable to speak. His lips quivered but no sound escaped them. His dark eyes filled with tears. ‘I have this terrible effect on everyone who sees me. I reduce them all to shivering wrecks!’ she said, but her humour was unable to hide the tears that began to well in her own eyes and fall down her sallow cheeks. ‘You’re a silly, silly fool,’ she continued with a tremulous voice, ‘to leave us for so long. What were you doing over there, when we who love you were all over here, missing you? Did you miss us too? Are you here to stay?’

‘I’m here to stay,’ he croaked. ‘I wish I . . .’

‘Shhh.’ She silenced him. ‘I have a rule now. No regretting. No remorse. No wailing and pulling out your hair because you wish you had done things differently. I’ve been through this with Sofia - silly fools the pair of you. In this house we live in the present and enjoy each other without looking back, unless it’s to talk about the good old days. They were good, weren’t they, Fercho?’ He nodded mutely. ‘Ah, do you remember that friend of mine you had a crush on - my schoolfriend, you must remember? Silvia Diaz, that was her name. You used to write her love letters. I wonder what’s happened to her now.’

‘She never fancied me back,’ he said, smiling at the memory of those innocent days.

‘Oh yes, she did. But she was shy. She used to read and re-read your letters during class. She read them out to me. They were very romantic’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Oh, they were.
Very
romantic. You were a dark horse. We could never keep track of you. But Sofia and I once spied on you kissing Romina Blaquier in the swimming pool.’

‘I knew you were there,’ he confessed and grinned at her.

‘You didn’t show it.’

‘Of course not - I enjoyed the attention.’ He laughed.

‘That’s better. Laughter is healing, tears only make me sad,’ she said and they laughed together.

‘Do you remember, we used to come here every Saturday night for Mass?’ Sofia’s voice echoed against the cold stone walls of the church of
Nuestra Señora de la Asuncion.

‘Before going to the nightclub,’ chuckled Santi. ‘Not very reverent.’

‘I never thought of that,’ she replied. ‘To be honest, Mass was just a chore.’

‘You used to snigger the whole way through.’

‘Quite difficult to keep a straight face with Padre Julio stuttering and lisping.’

‘He died years ago.’

‘I can’t say I’m sorry.’

‘You
should
say you’re sorry, you’re in his church,’ Santi said, laughing.

‘You mean he might hear? I wonder if people stutter in heaven - you never hear of stuttering angels, do you?’

They wandered down the aisle, their
alpargatas
treading softly and silently over the stones. The church was very bare, not like the Catholic churches in the city. The altar stood in humble simplicity under a clean white cloth adorned with drooping flowers. The air was stale and the spicy scent of incense lingered

as there was no open window through which it could escape. The sun streamed in through the stained glass behind the altar casting long beams of light onto the floor and walls, showing up the dust which, were it not for the sunshine, would have gone unnoticed. Icons of the Virgin Mary hung from the walls among the many statues of saints and candles that shone out of the gloom. The pews were as Sofia remembered them, austere and uncomfortable enough to stop one falling asleep during the sermon.

‘Do you remember the wedding of Soledad’s niece Pilar?’ said Sofia with a smile.

‘How could I forget?’ replied Santi, hitting his forehead with the palm of his hand and laughing out loud.

‘Padre Julio mixed her up with her sister and gave the whole address about Lucia!’ They tried to muffle their laughter.

‘It was only at the end when he blessed the happy couple Roberto and Lucia that anyone realized that the person he had just been describing had nothing whatsoever to do with Pilar!’ she added, barely able to get the words out. ‘How awful. She was so upset and all we could do was laugh!’

When they reached the altar silence washed over them like a spell. They instinctively stopped fooling around. There were two small tables on either side of the altar covered in candles of every size and shape. Their minds turned to Maria. Santi struck a match and lit one.

‘For my sister,’ he said and closed his eyes in prayer. Sofia was moved. Lighting one herself she also closed her eyes and silently asked God to preserve her cousin’s life. She felt Santi’s hand find hers and hold it for comfort. He squeezed it twice and she returned his message in the same code. They stood there for a while. She had never prayed so hard. However, her prayers weren’t totally unselfish. As long as Maria lived she had an excuse to stay.

‘I wonder whether God minds that we only turn to Him in distress,’ Santi said quietly.

‘I imagine He’s used to it,’ she replied.

‘I hope it works.’

‘So do I.’

‘I don’t have much faith that it will, though. I’d like to. I feel guilty that I come here as a last resort. I feel I don’t deserve a miracle.’

‘You’ve come. I don’t think it matters that you’ve come as a last resort. You’re here now.’

‘I suppose. I never used to understand those people who came to church all the time. I think I do now. It gives them comfort.’

‘Is it giving you some comfort?’ she asked.

‘Sort of.' he replied, and smiled at her wistfully. ‘You know, I should have liked to marry you in this little church.’

‘With Padre Julio stammering “W-w-w-w-ill y-you t-take S-s-s-s-Sofia ...” ’

He chuckled at her imitation. ‘Nothing would have mattered, even if he had given the address about Fercho!’ he said, pulling her into his arms and kissing her forehead affectionately.

She felt so loved in his embrace. The smell of him brought back memories of another time and she longed to hold onto the moment for ever. She hugged him back and they stayed like that for some time, neither of them feeling the need to speak. She felt dreadfully melancholic and yet at the same time she was happy because she was with him. She was aware that these moments were transient so she clung to them and lived them more intensely than she had ever lived.

‘Did you ever confess to Padre Julio that we were lovers?’ he asked, pulling

away.

‘Are you crazy? No! Did you?’

‘No. Did you ever confess anything?’

‘Not really, I made it all up. He was so easily shocked it was too tempting not to make things up.’

‘You’re really bad, you know!’ he said and smiled a little sadly.

‘I thought I wasn’t as bad as I used to be until I showed up here. I have now exceeded my own limitations.’

‘I should feel guilty - I did at the beginning. But I don’t now. It feels so right,’ he said, shaking his head as if his feelings were now out of his control and no longer his responsibility.

‘It
is
right,’ she insisted, taking his hand in hers. ‘It should have been like this.’

‘I know. I feel guilty that I don’t feel guilty. It’s terrifying how one can forget.’

‘Claudia?’

‘Claudia, the children. When I’m with you I don’t think about them any more.’

‘Same,’ she replied. But it wasn’t really true. Every time David’s face surfaced with those of their daughters she made every effort to suppress them. They

had almost given up trying. But David could be very persistent when he wanted to.

‘Come on. Let’s get out of this place before Padre Juan catches us,’ he said, making his way up the aisle.

‘We’re doing nothing wrong. We’re cousins, remember?’

‘Chofi, I can’t forget. I think Cod made you my cousin to punish me for something I did in a past life.’

‘Or He’s got a sick sense of humour!’

Once out into the sunshine they had to shield their eyes from the glare. Sofia felt giddy for a moment while her eyes adjusted to the light. The humidity was stifling.

‘We’re going to have one hell of a storm, Chofi. Can you feel it?’

‘Yes, I can. I love storms, I find them very exciting.’

‘The first time we made love was during a storm.’

‘Yes, I remember. How could I forget?’

They walked out onto the plaza. The road was still a dirt track, unchanged since the days of their grandparents. It ran sleepily around the square which itself was lined with tall trees. She noticed they still painted the lower part of the bark with white
Cal
to keep the ants off. Small houses and shopfronts opened out into the sunshine, their shady interiors oblique behind dusty glass windows. The
boliche
was still in the same place on the corner. It was the cafe where all the
gauchos
would get together to drink
Mate
and play cards. Paco used to spend every Sunday morning there, reading the papers over a cup of coffee; Sofia imagined he still did, being a creature of habit.

As it was the afternoon the shops were all closed for siesta and the plaza was still and quiet in the heat of the day. They wandered into the square to sit on one of the benches in the shade. They were about to sit down when a voice called at them from one of the other benches. To their horror and surprise it was the famous
Vieja Bruja.