Meet Me Under The Ombu Tree (31 page)

‘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

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.

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.